One thing that's really nice
about our house is the mighty flushing power of our toilets.
Mind you, I haven't put them to the test by attempting to flush
a, I don't know, blanket, or something, but they definitely
take care of the usual business that they are asked to do.

I'm feeling appreciative of
this robust functionality because last weekend I was subjected
to the sheer hell that is JB's parents' guest bathroom. There
are many things wrong with this bathroom.

Thing the first: It has a blind over the window, but
the blind is always drawn and you have to wrestle with it until
you work up a sweat in order to shield yourself from exposing
your shame to anyone who happens to mosey by on the sidewalk.

Thing the second: Once you draw that blind, it's dark
as hell in there. A solitary bulb burns with all the brightness
of a cave fungus, and you must navigate your way by emitting
sonar beeps and determining the position of the toilet based
on echolocation.

Thing the third: One. Ply. Toilet. Paper.

Thing the fourth: The toilet, while undoubtedly saving
the environment by not wasting a single molecule of unnecessary
water, has the most puny and ineffectual flush you have ever
encountered. You depress the handle, and the toilet goes flooooshh (long
nerve-rending pause) ..gu-glurk glurkglurkle.

I had a particularly obnoxious
encounter with the evil toilet on Easter Sunday. Right before
several members of JB's family were due to show up, I had myself
a little potty break. Now, I won't get graphic here, but let's
just say it was a perfectly normal bathroom visit that did not
involve, say, the aftermath of a bad taco, or anything of that
nature.

I did my business, and flushed.
Now, I have learned from this toilet - you don't just flush and
be off on your merry way. Oh no, you must stick around to be
certain All Has Gone As Planned. So I waited, and sure enough,
a second flush was required. I tapped my foot as the tank refilled,
and tried again. No luck.

I went for flush #3, this time
employing a strategic maneuver consisting of dropping a wad of
toilet paper at juuuust the right moment in the hopes it will
carry everything where it needs to go. And, it didn't work.

At this point I was really
feeling glad his family hadn't shown up quite yet, because I
could picture everyone standing around politely perhaps
raising their voices above the repeated flushings, pretending
they didn't notice anything amiss.

Not only does hanging around
a dimly lit bathroom waiting for a toilet to refill with nothing
to read but old "American Hunter" magazines really
suck, but the sheer evilness of it all was completely overwhelming.
If you've ever had a toilet get backed up, you know what I mean.
It's like - something that is typically benign and helpful suddenly
turning against you, leaving you helpless in the wake of its
power. You thought you were master of ME, the toilet chortles,
well you were dead wrong, missy.

It was around flush #6 that everything went back to normal and
I could escape, panting and practically tear-eyed with relief.
I vowed never to go Number Two ever again while at the in-laws.

Which shouldn't be that hard,
really. I mean, don't even get me started on the horribleness
that is 1-ply toilet paper.